


Happiness

by Nature_Nymph



Category: Berserk
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nature_Nymph/pseuds/Nature_Nymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he departed from the Hawks, Guts told Casca that he wished she and Griffith happiness together, despite his own feelings. Did this ever come to pass? GriffithxCasca, with GutsxCasca and GutsxGriffith implicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bend and Break](https://archiveofourown.org/works/139959) by [ywhiterain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ywhiterain/pseuds/ywhiterain). 



He just knelt there, slumped in the fresh snow after Guts defeated him. It wasn’t just Griffith’s blade that lay broken in the snow, but his spirit. Casca could see it in Griffith’s eyes, just by how vacant they were. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was still something in those eerie blue eyes of his. There was despair, uncertainty,  _recklessness._

Griffith was going to do something; she could feel it.

It was time. It was finally time for her to be of use to Griffith, if not as his sword, than as a woman.

 

Casca told him to use her - in any way, shape, or form.

She walked away from him on that hill, back to their barracks in the city. 

_Why did I say that?_

She drank with Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, and Rickert at the tavern for a while before leaving abruptly, never truly drowning herself in alcohol; her mind was unclear enough without the influence.

Eventually, Casca found herself in Guts’ old room. It was empty of all his belongings, save for his breastplate, a pauldron, and the remnants of his broken blade. Having never touched his sword before, Casca reached for the hilt. It was heavier than she anticipated, even though only a fourth of it remained. Still, there was something calm and certain in its aura, as if a fragment of Guts’ personality was left behind with it: the part of him that she was only beginning to understand before he left today. She held it tightly against her breast.

_What should I be doing?_

Casca repeated this to herself ever since she got back to her room, having dressed herself in a simple night shift. The snow had begun to melt as rain moved in from the north at night fall, yet there was no word of Griffith’s whereabouts. Nervousness came over her as she tried to scan the grounds from the rain-stained window, trying to see if any vagrant figures could have been Griffith’s. 

A knocking rapped on her door, jolting Casca away from the window. Trying to collect herself as best she could, she walked over to the wooden door of her chamber.

It was Griffith, dripping wet from rain, the look of haziness still in his eyes.

He was there, safe and unharmed, but the nervousness never left Casca. She knew why he had come.

He didn’t wait, neither finding the time to warm his frigid body nor to settle his heart by speaking a single word to her; Griffith immediately crushed his lips onto Casca’s, herding her to the bed while pulling off their clothes.

She never imagined her first time being like this.

Sure, it was better than being taken by force in some abandoned field by complete strangers, but she never wanted it like this either.

But this was her wish, what she had dreamed for to happen since the day she met him, the day that he rescued her as a girl. Since then, Casca had wanted to become a woman, just for Griffith. And now, it was happening. This was her wish. 

And a part of her was even feeling the physical pleasure of the moment: how Griffith moved inside of her, touching her body in so many ways that reduced her to moans of excitement, despite how frantic, harsh, and soulless he was in the moment.

Then why couldn’t she look at him? Why couldn’t she touch Griffith back in the way that she wanted? Why was she thinking of Guts the whole time?

_“I hope things go well with you and Griffith.”_  Those were the last words Guts had said to her. It was odd: despite how she would keep a part of her ambition shelled away from her comrades, it was obvious to the others how she wanted to be of importance to Griffith. However, no one ever said anything of it aloud, as if they knew that in reality, she and Griffith would never be together. Yet, on that night, with a bittersweet smile on his face, Guts acknowledged her feelings toward Griffith, remembered her confession to him in that cave months before,  and above all, wanted her to be happy. 

It was what Casca had always wanted from her comrades, so why was her heart tearing at the way Guts smiled at her, as though what he really wanted was not as far away from him as he thought?

And that’s when she began to get desperate: so desperate that she ran to Griffith, begging him to confront Guts; so desperate that when it came to the two clashing swords, she wanted Guts to lose, not for the purpose of Griffith securing his dominance over him, but for the purpose of keeping Guts with the Hawks, with her.

_I wished for Guts… to stay._

Casca had already admitted it to herself that morning when she saw Guts walk away, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance until he had disappeared from view. She began to run to him, but only stopped herself halfway when she shouted his name. Hope filled her when she saw Guts stall for one moment, but it was no use. His path was already set - and he walked it.

Casca couldn’t stop Guts from leaving, neither by her own merit nor by using Griffith. She couldn’t stop the two from dueling, and she couldn’t help Griffith win. But if there was one thing that she could prevent, it was Griffith doing something to himself by using her body as a channel for his emotions. How else could she have fixed things other than by this? Wasn’t this all her fault?

They couldn’t call the moment an afterglow. There was no tenderness, no soft murmurs or sweet caresses. After his last thrust into her, after their climax, Griffith simply rested on top of her. Eventually, he rolled off from on top of her and sat himself on the edge of the opposite side of the bed, leaving Casca alone and curled up with nothing more than a pillow. It helped to choke out the sound of her sobs.

She cried because she saw that part of Griffith she never wanted to see for his own sake; she cried because she saw a new part of Griffith that she never wanted to see for her own sake; she cried because this was ultimately the most useful she had ever been to Griffith. With her offering, Casca was able to save a part of Griffith’s sanity. With his sanity intact, Griffith would be able to continue his dream at no risk. 

But at what price?

Her sobs were not the only ones in the room, however, for she heard the same sound coming from Griffith’s end of the bed.

Griffith was  _crying._

Casca turned her head around ever so slightly, peeking over her shoulder. There sat Griffith, glistening in his sweat as the firelight reflected off of his body. He was huddling his legs close to his body, almost rocking back and forth as he started to claw at his shoulders, leaving fresh trails of blood on his pristine skin.

It was so much like that morning down at the riverbank, years ago.

Only this time, Casca would not go over to Griffith, hugging him close to her, telling him not to do such a thing to himself. Did she think this out of spite or out of embarrassment? Casca wasn’t sure - she didn’t know what to think or to feel anymore. She knew that a part of her still loved Griffith, but, the love she felt for Guts was something else. Would she ever know the full potential of that love now that he was gone? 

She wondered: was Griffith also thinking about Guts, or about the confusion over his actions on this long day? If so, they were not as far apart as she would have thought.

Casca managed to cease her crying after awhile. Soon, she felt Griffith’s weight shifting off the bed and heard him shuffling around the room, probably to find some bandages for his wounds. She heard the wrapping of the gauze around his shoulder, and once he was done, heard him coming over to the bed. To Casca’s astonishment, Griffith rolled over to her side and spooned her body with one leg over hers while his arm encircled her waist. She did not shy away from his touch, his warmth.

_I’ll try_ , Casca thought to herself, a single tear slipping from her closed eye.  _I’ll try to find happiness._

_*****_

She was exhausted from running in the snow, her cheeks flushed with redness and her cleavage heaving up and down. But Casca’s eyes were far from tired: Griffith could see it the moment she came to his chamber door in the middle of the night, frantically knocking until he answered. They were filled to the brim with fear and concern, so much so that there were no more room for tears. Griffith admitted that she looked very beautiful considering.

He remembered placing his hands on Casca’s shoulders with that firm and steady grip that she was so use to, the one that told Casca that he had her back. He asked her what was so urgent for her to come on this cold, winter night looking the way she did.

And then she told him of Guts’ intentions.

All he could do was just stand there, baffled by what Casca had just told him. He was able to finally tell Casca to get dressed and gather the others before dressing himself in appropriate attire. As he grabbed his rapier, sliding it out of its scabbard in one movement, only one thought crossed Griffith’s mind as he stared at himself through the blade’s seamless steel:

_Guts… wants to leave._

They were all there on that hill: he, Rickert, Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, Casca, Guts. It was as though they were just in another strategy meeting. Only there were no exchange of tactics, but tearful goodbyes and spiteful last confessions. Casca and Guts, he noticed, only shared a held gaze. Before Guts could break apart from the Hawks, break apart from him, Griffith gave his stance.

_You can’t go… You_  can’t. _I WON’T LET YOU. But… what do I do?_

Could he defeat Guts without hurting him? Did he want to hurt him? The more Griffith analyzed, the less he saw there being a chance that Guts could come out unscatched if he attacked forcefully enough to make him stay.  He might really end up killing him. Suddenly, nothing matter anymore, not his comrades, not Casca, not Guts’ safety. Griffith wasn’t even sure what did matter. All he knew was one thing as he sprung out to attack:

_I DON’T CARE_

In a blink of an eye, it was all over. Griffith found himself kneeling before the great slab of iron, his own sword in shambles. He wanted to pick himself up, do something, but he couldn’t. Griffith could only slump further into the snow as Guts picked up his things, walking straight past him. And before he knew it, Guts was gone.

_What… just happened?_

Everything suddenly became a blur. Griffith wasn’t use to his thoughts being in such chaos. He couldn’t focus on anything: the figure walking away from him, his hilt falling from his palm, the feeling of shock colliding with those of spite and fear. How could this have happened? _How_  could this have happened? How could this…?

 He only snapped out of the daze after hearing Casca’s voice, after hearing her offer: her offering of her body to him. Once everyone had gone back to the barracks, one by one, Griffith picked himself up, but left his broken sword where it lay on the snow.

Griffith would come out of his daze every now and then: one moment, the last thing he remembered was standing on the hill at morning, the next moment, he was on a deserted road in the middle of the woods nearing dusk. From his vantage point, where he could see the charred skeleton of a tower, Griffith knew where he was.

_“Do you think I’m cruel?”_

He had asked Guts that, after he had completed his last covert mission, one of several that he had conducted under the noses of the other Hawks. Griffith knew of their contrasting reputations and what was at stake if his faltered; yet Guts had given him his hardy reassurance, telling him that it was all part of the path toward his dream, a dream that Guts would help him accomplish at any means. But, was Guts really not satisfied with what he had him do? Did Guts grow to become distrustful of his intentions, his feelings toward him?

_Were you really that unhappy?_

Before he knew it, Griffith was knocking on a wooden door. In ten seconds time, Casca answered, wearing a white gown, simple yet elegant as it contrasted with her darkly skin around her exposed neck. He could scarcely make out the outline of her breasts, the material was so thin.

Their eyes connected for a moment, and he saw something in Casca that he was not expecting: acceptance. Not of Guts leaving, but of what was about to happen between the two of them. She was much stronger than he was at the moment, it seemed.

_Take all of the sad and frightening things… and cast them into the fire._

Griffith stared at Casca now, who was lying on the bed with a passive look on her face as she waited for him. Looking at her form, her bronzed body waiting to follow his orders so readily, so blindly, it made Griffith confused - angry even.

How easily he was able to spread her legs apart just made Griffith think of Casca’s diligent obedience, always willing to sacrifice her well-being for his wishes. She wasn’t as blind in conformity as the rest of the Hawks; after all, she had seen things in him that he would not have shown to anyone else in a thousand years.

Except for him.

Yes, he remembered that look in Casca’s eyes. It wasn’t just fear in her depths, but also longing. Longing for Guts to stay. Longing for  _him_. No longer was he, the White Hawk, the focus of her world. And yet here she was: her breasts bare, succulent neck exposed as her head was turned to the side, a hint of sadness peaking from her dark eyes. She was just going to allow herself to be ravished, just like on that day. Had Griffith accomplished nothing by changing that girl into this woman? Or, was this what she wanted as well?

It was strange: one Hawk was subservient to his wishes; the other Hawks was not. Yet both were so far from him. They complemented each other so well, but they could hardly be called hawks.

She was as obedient as a bitch was to her feral dog. 

_Would you have left too, if he had asked you?_

Griffith didn’t ask Casca by way of words: his rapid pounding said enough. Both knew better than to call this love making, as it was nothing more than raw fucking. He wasn’t sure if she was gasping from the pleasure or the pain. The whole time, Casca refused to touch him, giving him no eye-contact whatsoever. It was as if her mind was in a totally different place, far from where they were. She was trying her best to disassociate herself from the moment, from these feelings that were probably as confusing to her as they were to him.

_Do you want him here right now, instead of me?_

He wanted to despise her just as he wanted to curse Guts, but he couldn’t. Again, only Casca had seen things in him that others hadn’t; only Casca was able to see things in him that others couldn’t. Even when his thoughts were distorted earlier, she saw through them, gave to him to only thing she could think of to calm him. Within her, Griffith could find some form of sanctuary, just like whenever he was with Guts, he didn’t need to feel the weight of his dreams on his shoulders. With them, Griffith felt peaceful. But his need for their love, his need to know that they loved him wholly, embodied the only anxiety that he ever felt. The only way to keep that anxiety at rest was to keep them both under his watch, maintaining an equilibrium. 

But the equilibrium was broken, all because of them.

Once again, a storm of chaos clouded Griffith’s head. His thoughts flashed from Guts to Casca, from his love to his hate, from his ambition to his fears. It was all too overwhelming, too painful to handle.

_Stop… it!_

The storm only calmed once he finished inside Casca, collapsing on her trembling body soon after. He twisted the bedding tightly in his grip instead of stroking Casca’s body anymore than he had to; she showed no intentions of doing so to him after all, judging from the way she lay beneath him. 

Once they were both calm, Griffith rolled away from Casca, herself turning the opposite direction. Sitting on the bed’s edge, he thought; rather, he tried to think of what had just happened.

He wanted to lash out at Guts so much, wanted to put him back in his place. He wasn’t there, of course, but Casca was. Did he do what he did to punish her for playing at his emotions, for pitying him, or did he lie with her to ensure her affection of him? Did he do it knowing that being with Casca was the closest he could be to being with Guts, since he was in her heart as well? In some twisted fashion, did he want to take them both in, simultaneously?

Had he no control, not over Guts, not over Casca, not over himself? Was he ever truly in control of anything, his plans, his feelings? Was it he who was playing at his own emotions? All Griffith could do at that point was curl up and hug himself as he clawed away, releasing the pain that was whelming up inside of him. 

_For my dream… For my dream… For my dream._

Yes. That was what Griffith resolved in himself. This was just another path getting closer to his dream. Guts played his part; he was no longer needed. Griffith admitted that he started to slip, further than he intended, but Casca gave him a reasonable offer, and he took it; he once told her himself that there were some problems that could only be solved by a woman’s touch. It was better for things to go this way than for any other disaster that might have come. In his state, Griffith might have very well have taken the Princess to bed!

He would have to keep telling himself this, over and over. Griffith would have to because that part of him would always continue to claw its way out even greater than before, trying to submerge him into that maelstrom of yearning, hate, and love; that part of him would always view Guts and Casca as more than just pieces on a chessboard. So Griffith would accept that Guts was gone, due to agents that he could not control. But if he could no longer keep his grasp around Guts, he would not let anybody else of worth to him slip through his hands.

_I’ve failed to maintain control once; I won’t lose it again,_  Griffith told himself as he went to a drawer and fetched some gauze to wrap his wounds in. 

He stood at the side of the bed, looking at Casca’s curled up form before he crawled over to her side. Griffith never realized how small she looked - innocent even. It reminded him of that day when he gave a girl a sword, a blanket, and a smile. He lay down beside her and embraced her, gently but possessively.

_Now you belong to me,_  Griffith recited in his head, _now and forever._

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing Griffith's character. Eek. People have always asked, "Why didn't Griffith sleep with Casca as opposed to Charlotte?" Reading "Bend and Break" just made me want write the scenario more. Thank you.


End file.
